


Worth It

by seashadows



Series: Lady Klok [2]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Genderswap, Masturbation, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nadia Explosion would never admit to lusting after her bassist...even though she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

Willa Murderface is the world’s first and only cuntslap bassist.   
  
Well, technically speaking, she doesn’t _actually_ play with her cunt. Her bass has a fairly deep dip, so when it’s time for her to do her thing, she swings her leg over and strums deep, resonant power chords with one full inner thigh. Always makes the men happy, anyway, especially the ones who like her curves and go wild when she bares her soft stomach or a deep slice of cleavage or her ass. They do like her ass.   
  
Nadia wouldn’t tell Murderface this if she was being drawn and quartered – which, honestly, she probably wouldn’t mind, because it would be metal as all _fuck_ \- but she’s impressed. Her own smoky, booming contralto draws its fair share of fans, and it feels good as hell when it roars out of her throat, but that’s not anything special. She’s seen Murderface’s legs when she slides into the hot tub in the nude (which always draws a “pfft” from Sigrid and a sardonic smirk from Pickles, who doesn’t sag anywhere, the bitch), and the inside of her left thigh is almost as scarred as Tove’s back.   
  
Going through that kind of pain just to play an instrument…well, Nadia _can_ imagine it, because she’s picked up a guitar a time or two to see what her own hands can do, and those steel strings cut red marks into her fingertips that didn’t go away for an hour. For Murderface to cut up her leg, to bleed in the name of metal, is pretty damn _metal_ , and that’s exactly why Nadia’s not going to say a word. Murderface doesn’t need to swell her ego up with other people’s admiration, so fuck it. She can screw some fanboys if she wants to hear about her legs, or about anything else.   
  
They beat each other up plenty, anyway. One night, Murderface brings home some stinking douchebag concert groupie (who keeps staring at Nadia’s ass in a way that’s not entirely unappealing, especially when she hasn’t gotten some for like a month, maybe two), pukes in the hallway, and passes out drunk and naked next to the hot tub. Nadia takes the guy back to her room – or _starts_ to. Seems Murderface has a thing about her leftovers, or her figurative next meal, getting stolen while she’s drooling on the floor, because she catches up to them outside the kitchen, starts shrieking, and punches Nadia in the gut.   
  
It doesn’t hurt, not with Murderface’s lack of upper-body strength, but push comes to literal shove and soon enough, the two of them are duking it out on the floor. Nadia’s on top (which makes for a lot of really, _really_ awkward jokes when Charlotte comes in from lecturing Sigrid about leaving her bras on the floor or some shit like that, and finds them there), fighting for all she’s worth, and it…doesn’t feel bad.   
  
She and Murderface have kind of similar builds, although she’s at least six inches taller and has augmented her shape with some serious muscle, but it’s weird to feel yourself straddling someone else’s pelvis. Some other _chick’s_ pelvis, even. Murderface yanks her down to bang her fists against Nadia’s back, and their breasts push against each other. A sudden heat swells in her crotch, and Nadia’s so surprised that she momentarily forgets what they’re fighting about, or that they’re even fighting.   
  
Charlotte pulls them off each other about a second later and levels the Glare of Death at both of them. Nadia bites her lip and plays dumb, like usual, but when she jills off an hour later in her bed, there’s someone else in her usual repertoire of fantasies. Pickles, of course, stoned and tasting sweet like smoke, stroking her clever fantasy tongue against Nadia’s cunt. Tove, sweet and adorable and giggly until she gasps with pleasure. Charlotte, sharp edges even under the armor of her clothing – these are the familiar ones. They’re always enough to hot her up.   
  
But tonight, Murderface makes her first appearance. In Nadia’s mind, they’re not fighting but fucking, that press of boobs having turned into a kiss so hot her brain fizzles out just trying to imagine it. She’s not very imaginative, as evidenced by the fact that her _bandmates_ make up her jackoff dreams, but this one is new. And it’s nice.   
  
When she breathes in deeply, imagining how the bassist smells (a little sweaty, yeah, but not nearly the stink that Sigrid complains about every single fucking day), she comes around the two fingers pushed deep inside her, so hard that she thinks she bruises a knuckle. And possibly her G-spot. Not half bad. She makes a mental note to add Murderface to the lineup when she masturbates again – probably not anytime soon, because she feels so fucked out that it’s like Sigrid turned into a guy, came in, pounded her but good, and ran off.   
  
Nadia regrets her fantasy the next time they have a concert; she soaks herself almost as soon as Murderface starts playing, and she’s still only barely started cuntslapping. The regret doesn’t last long, though, not with the pleasure she knows she’ll get when they fight again.   
  
It’s pretty fucking brutal, after all.


End file.
